Misconduct
by Acknowledge
Summary: She was an enemy. Or maybe she wasn't. Did it matter anymore?
1. Hide and Seek

_So, this is my first crack at a story of this kind, any feedback would be greatly appreciated! Its both exciting and challenging writing this already, so I hope you stay around with me to see how it unfolds!_

* * *

Tension hung in the air; a heavy lingering veil. Behind the steel door came the hum of muffled voices. The tones were low, but changed pitch frequently, suggesting a conversation was taking place. It was estimated that there was three, maybe four present. The exchange went on.

From his position at the other side of the door, Captain John Price gripped his rifle tighter, and nodded sharply at the soldier opposite. Reacting immediately to the command, John 'Soap' MacTavish slammed a square device onto the door, where it stuck and beeped twice, flashing a red light. He jabbed a thickly gloved finger into a button on the front and then both men turned away, each with an arm held protectively over their face. Within a heartbeat, the device detonated, blasting the door from its hinges and sprinkling fragments of the wall into the air. A cloud of white smoke rose from the explosion and seeped into the room. There were indistinguishable shouts from within the smoke, all in a foreign tongue but undeniably urgent. What followed was the deafening cackle of guns and the sinister thuds of bodies dropping to the floor. After a few intense moments the gunfire ceased, and silence hardened. The smoke slowly faded and revealed a bloody scene. The bodies of four men scattered the ground, all but one clad in armed attire. The room was run down like the rest of the building and was sparsely furnished, with crumbling walls and worn wooden flooring. Two chairs had been knocked over and the desk in the corner was spread with a clutter of paperwork. Price and MacTavish moved in, guns still raised. They quickly scanned the small room before they lowered their weapons in defeat.

"Damn it." MacTavish's gruff Scottish voice cut through the silence.

Price pressed a finger against his earpiece and spoke into his radio. "No sign of Makarov, I repeat, no sign of Makarov. Move out to our position, we'll search for intel."

"Roger that." came the deep response into his earpiece.

MaTavish, who was pushing one of the fallen men's face to the side with the toe of his boot in inspection, looked up at his old comrade when he exhaled heavily.

"Search that desk, we need any leads we can get if we're going to find that slimy bastard." Price said, kneading his fingers into his jaw in frustration.

Slinging the strap of his rifle over his shoulder, MacTavish stepped over the bodies and made his way to the desk in the corner. Price remained in the centre of the room, muttering into his radio. Standing at the front of the desk, MacTavish rummaged through the mass of paper, searching for something, anything useful. He, like most of the other men in Taskforce 141, was becoming increasingly maddened by the lack of success. His desire for Makarov dead was becoming consuming.

It was then that two figures appeared in the doorway, both strapped with weapons and armour. Ghost was the taller and slightly broader of the two and was wearing a balaclava, printed with the face of a skull, a headset, and dark red tinted sunglasses which almost completely shadowed his eyes. Roach had a somewhat boyish face, and the way he hung behind Ghost validated their ranks.

"Got anthin'?" Ghost asked as they entered the room. Neither of the two even reacted to the bodies sprawled across the floor.

MacTavish didn't lift his head as he replied. "Nothing." In his hasty search, several pieces of paper fell off the back of the desk. "Most of this is-" He froze and immediately held a hand up to the others, signalling silence. One piece of paper had fallen and swooped into the space under the desk on the other side. The unusual crumpling sound had ignited MacTavish's suspicion that it had touched something before it landed on the floor. Something that was under the desk.

Sliding his gun off his shoulder and into his arms, he glanced at the other three men who had all also readied their weapons. He ducked into a crouch, and slowly, stepping as lightly as his heavy boots would allow, he moved around the desk.

He didn't falter when his eyes met those of another; his instincts had told him there was someone there and they were rarely wrong. However, although his composure didn't show it, he was caught off guard by the sight before him. There, crammed under the desk at the end of the aim of his rifle, was a young, terrified, beautiful woman.

She was clutching her left thigh, blood seeping through her fingers. The blood on her light skin was a harsh contrast; she didn't belong in such a brutal environment. Her blonde ponytail was bedraggled, and her face was smudged with dust from the explosion, but her features were flawless. Icy blue tear-filled eyes, straight defined nose, round full lips. She stared up at the soldier before her with wide eyes and a quivering lip. Her voice was shaky and on the edge of a sob, but coated in a thick Russian accent.

"Please, do not kill me. I can help you."


	2. Betrayal

The large boot of Captain MacTavish suddenly slammed against the side of the desk and with one powerful leg, he pushed it backwards. The desk screeched as it slid across the floor, revealing the huddled over figure to the other men. Ghost and Roach glanced at each other as Price stepped forward.

The fear in the woman's eyes intensified as she stared up at the armed team and her breathing became slightly more erratic. They were going to kill her, any moment now. They had already shot her - now they were going to finish the job. Behind the old man approaching her, she noticed one of the others tilt his gun towards her, adjusting his grip. This movement sent her into a panicked frenzy, and before Price could speak she erupted into desperate sobs.

"Please! My name is Eva-" her voice hitched into a sharp hiss and she gripped her bloodied leg tighter. "-Eva Shereshevski! You are looking for Vladmir Makarov, I can help you find him, please!"

Her babble disintegrated into strangled sobs and her head dropped, her shoulders shaking

"Price?" MacTavish queried for instructions, slowly lifting his gaze from the woman to the Captain. Price met his gaze and lifted a finger to his earpiece.

"Hammer Two-Six, 141 moving to evac point immediately."

The radio crackled. "Copy that, coming in."

Price lifted his gun with a sense of purpose and pointed two fingers at the men to the left of him. "Ghost, get the girl. Roach take the rear. Soap with me." He then pointed forwards. "Move out."

He gave the girl, Eva, one last look. "I hope you're not too fond of your friend Makarov."

And with that, he signalled the others and they all moved at once. MacTavish strode past and followed Price out of the crumbling hole where the door once was. Ghost was suddenly looming over Eva, the emotionless face of a skull staring down at her, an expectant hand outstretched. She looked back and forth between his concealed face and his gloved hand, still sniffling. When she didn't take it, he addressed her with a deep firm voice.

"Unless you want to stay here and bleed to death, I suggest you take my hand."

She needed no further persuasion and jerked her hand into his. She had no time to prepare for the pain that crippled her leg as he immediately pulled her up and ducked under her arm in one proficient movement. She cried out in agony and he felt all of her body weight fall against him. It didn't unsettle him; yes, she was a woman and so innocent-looking but it wasn't pain he hadn't seen before, she was just another person. Plus, she was linked to the leader of an Ultranationalist terrorist organisation – she wasn't to be pitied. Ghost didn't do sympathy. It seemed Roach however was slightly uneasy.

"Aye easy mate, her leg looks quite bad." he said, wincing as Eva let out another cry and tears spilled down her cheeks. Ghost ignored him and pressed forward, her arm slung over his shoulders, gripping her wrist at the side of his neck. Roach huffed quietly and followed closely behind, scanning the area with the point of his rifle. Ghost was going faster than Eva thought she could manage, and she started to feel lightheaded with the unbearable pain of each step just as they reached a flight of decaying stairs.

"Clear!" came MacTavish's voice from the ground level.

The stairs proved to be difficult for both Eva and Ghost. She let out an irrepressible whimper on every stair they descended, and the leg of her pants had soaked through with blood and it was dripping onto the steps, making the stone slippery. It was infuriating for Ghost to be moving at such a painstakingly slow pace and his body was tense trying to restrain himself to stay on level with her. After descending two more steps, he snapped. Without warning, he suddenly crouched, put a thick arm around her midsection and straightened up, positioning her over his shoulder with ease. She exclaimed something in Russian, in shock or in pain Ghost didn't know, but he still gripped her tightly and advanced down the stairs. Roach was following behind, and could see as her head bobbed up and down over Ghost's shoulder, her eyes were losing focus. He felt a tinge of sympathy for her; her beauty had seeped through his hard soldier exterior. He didn't know her, but he didn't want her to be suffering like she was. Ghost however was impassive and had only briefly wondered if it was MacTavish or Price that had caught her with the fatal bullet.

They reached the ground level of the building and Ghost decided against setting her down again – this way was much quicker. However, the jolts of each of his steps were quickly becoming too painful to withstand for Eva, and she was numbing with the pain, her consciousness slowly slipping. Ahead, on the dusty ground, the evacuation chopper had already landed, and Price and MacTavish had reached it. Price had an arm in the air, beckoning them as he climbed in. Ghost and Roach picked up the pace and reached the chopper moments later. By the time Ghost lowered Eva into a seat, she had already passed out.

* * *

The Russian was woken by a throbbing in her leg. Her eyes fluttered open, only to then squint instinctively at the light flooding her vision. Her eyes refocused after a few blinks, and she realised she was lay down, on what felt like a very small, hard bed. Looking above her, she established that she was in a large tent of some sort. She lay there for a moment, her head blank. Swallowing, she slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position, careful to move her already pained leg as little as possible. She straightened up and was met with the stare, through tinted glasses, of a skull.

"Ah!" She recoiled, aggravating a sharp pain in her leg, causing her to cry out again. She pressed herself to the back of the bed, panting. She recognised the balaclava, and the man leaning back with his arms folded over his chest, in a chair at the end of the bed. Ghost didn't move for a moment and tension thickened. Eva slowly leaned off the metal bars of the bedframe. Ghost suddenly stood up, and disappeared, the entrance of the tent swaying in his wake.

Eva let out a breath she had been holding and her arms flopped by her sides. Something caught her eye and she jerked her head down and was horrified at the sight. Her ripped, blood-stained clothes had been replaced with a huge khaki t-shirt that buried her shoulders and covered the flesh down to her knees. Something heavy dropped in her stomach; someone had undressed her. _English pigs_. What where they going to do to her? Had she forfeited her life the moment she pleaded to let her help them? Blinking back tears that had suddenly formed, she hesitantly lifted the hem of the shirt to reveal her injured leg. There were crisp clean bandages wrapped around her thigh which she felt slightly relieved about – she didn't want to face whatever bloody wound lay underneath. She didn't want to even think about what her leg would now look like. She slowly pulled the material up further. Her tears threatened to spill in relief when she saw that she still had her own underwear on. Voices rose outside, and she hastily yanked the t-shirt down and pulled the thin white sheet at the end of the bed up to her chest. She tried to steady her breathing when the voices reached the other side of the tent.

Ghost re-entered, followed by Price and finally MacTavish. Eva swallowed hard. All three men stood in a line at the foot of the bed, looking down at her. Her heart thumped against her chest. MacTavish was the first to speak.

"I think you've got a bit of explaining to do lass."

Not looking directly in his eyes, Eva nodded slowly.

Price leaned his hands on the bar at the end of the bed. "Eva Shereshevski wasn't it?" he asked, looking at her from under his camouflage hat.

She nodded again, and spoke in a small voice. "Yes."

"And what's your relationship with Vladmir Makarov?" Price continued.

Inhaling quietly and mustering up a steady voice, she answered. She was going to honour her word and help them; they'd kept her alive up to now. "My farther deals arms with him. There was a problem with a shipment, it wasted much of Vladmir's time and he had threatened to cut the deal. My father forced me…" she paused. "I was too keep the deal sweet."

All three men shared the same realisation at once. This woman had Makarov's stamp over her. She shared some sort of relationship with the leader of the Ultranationalist terrorist cell, however dysfunctional it may be, she knew Makarov. And quite well they presumed. But now it changed the whole dynamics. Makarov would come after her, whether he suspected her betrayal or not. Not only would she lead them to him, she would lead him to them. A long silent moment had passed before Price spoke again.

"Why should we trust you? Why would you help us find him?"

For the first time, Eva raised her head, and looked Captain Price straight in the eye.

"Because I want him dead too."


	3. A Fine Little Soldier

_Thanks for sticking around! I'd love to hear what you think so far, bad or good, I'd appreciate any of your thoughts. So, please feel free to review and let me know! Hope you like the chapter!_

* * *

MacTavish leaned back in his chair and ruffled his streak of dark hair idly. His bulletproof vest was gone, along with his belts of equipment and he lounged at the table in simply a t-shirt and combat pants.

"So, thoughts on blondie?" he probed, looking between the two men opposite him.

Price dragged his hat off, put it on the table and rubbed his jaw line pensively. It had been a long day – when was it not? His body ached at every joint and truly did feel like an 'old man', as MacTavish liked to remind him.

"Doesn't scream undercover terrorist agent to me," he said, "but I wouldn't put it past Makarov to pull a stunt like this."

MacTavish murmured in agreement and thought for a moment. "Wonder why she wants him dead so bad." He linked his hands together and rested them behind his head and continued. "I'd of thought Makarov would be a belter of a fella'."

Ghost, who was yet to speak, chuckled silently, hidden behind his balaclava. Price was busy massaging his temples and failed to pay any attention to MacTavish's sarcasm.

"What'd you reckon we do with her though?" MacTavish pressed, serious again. "Meds say she'll be recovered in a week or two, apparently the bullet just grazed her leg."

Price straightened up and folded his arms across his chest, tilting his head in thought. "I say she comes out with us."

Ghost, distasteful about the idea of shepherding a fragile woman around on operations, questioned his Captain. "Comes with us?"

Price nodded, seeming to solidify the idea more and more in his head. "It's no good cooping her up at base. No, she'll be much more useful out on the field. She may even lure Makarov in if he knows she's with us."

"Aye," MacTavish agreed, "she's perfect bait."

Ghost was still unconvinced. He liked his men to know what they were doing and exactly when they were doing it. He didn't see how this woman would fit into the team; they were specialist soldiers who shot men dead as part of their daily routine, and she cried a lot.

"We can't have men throwing themselves in front of bullets trying to keep princess safe." he reasoned, looking at Price through the tint of his shades.

"We'll train her up, show her how to handle a weapon. Who knows, she might out do your head shots record." Price finished with a smirk, and looked at MacTavish who grinned wickedly.

Ghost narrowed his eyes. He never usually questioned the Captain's plans. Every so often he thought they were a tad too risky, but never outright insane. Was the old man losing his touch? And how dare he even mention his sniping skills in this conversation. No one would be touching his record. "So, you're going to turn her into a fine little solider in, what, a couple of weeks, with a shot up leg?"

Price continued to smirk as he rose from his chair and pushed his hat back onto his head.

"A crash course, if you will."

* * *

Eva had been staring at the bandage round her leg, debating whether to risk looking underneath, when a voice rang out from outside the tent.

"Am I…Am I allowed to come in?"

The voice wasn't one she remembered hearing before, though she couldn't be sure; their accents made them all sound the same. Except that one with the Mohican, she had to listen carefully when he spoke. She stared at the entrance, not knowing what to say. The others didn't ask for permission, they just came in. When she still didn't answer after a long few moments, the tent opened, and a head of brown hair appeared. They looked at each other for a few seconds before the man ducked through and stepped inside.

"I thought maybe you didn't speak English and couldn't understand me…but then I remembered, you do." he explained awkwardly. Eva simply looked at him from the bed, feeling uncomfortable. She realised he was the other one, the other one that was there when they found her. She vaguely remembered seeing his face just before her vision blackened.

"How's the leg?" Roach asked, not really looking directly at her.

She cleared her throat and replied quietly. "Okay."

Roach inhaled, looking around the room, realising the conversation was going badly. "Good, good…"

It fell quiet.

"Oh, Im Roach by the way." he added.

She furrowed her eye brows and looked up at him. "Roach? Like, like an insect?"

He smiled slightly and took a tiny step closer. "Yeah, like an insect."

She seemed to be thinking. "Why not a beetle? Or a spider? They're much better…"

Her interest in the topic had seemed to of momentarily brought her out of her shell and Roach was pleased she was talking. He'd been thinking about her since they'd returned to base. He realised he felt sorry for her and had decided to go and see her. MacTavish, Price and Soap had just left her after their questioning, with no thought of how she must be feeling. Then again, none of them had sisters like Roach did.

"Yeah they are, but I never really had a choice. The lads gave me the name." he said, smiling to himself remembering where the name derived from.

She didn't answer him, but simply parted her lips and lifted her head in understanding. Roach stole a glance at her when she looked down again. He'd never spoke to someone so attractive, even if her face was bare and her hair was scraped back, and she was nursing a bullet wound. He wondered if the other men had thought the same, or if they simply saw her as a source of information. Surely they thought it. They definitely thought it. Dragging himself out of his thoughts, Roach realised she was speaking.

"I've never been given a name." she stated simply. He couldn't remember if her face had looked so downcast throughout the conversation. She sounded so young, so lost. He'd guessed she was in her twenties, still youthful and pretty, but it was hard to gauge which end of the range.

"I've got the name of an ugly, diseased critter, count yourself lucky." he offered jokingly.

He'd never seen her smile before. He couldn't even imagine her doing so. But when she revealed her straight teeth and the creases at the corners of her mouth, he couldn't help but smile back.

* * *

"Are you having a laugh 'Tavish? It was the old man's pissing idea!"

Ghost threw a hand up in the air in emphasis.

"You train up all the newbies Ghost." MacTavish said, the corner of his mouth curled up in a smile. He walked behind him and put a hand on each of his shoulders, shaking Ghost encouragingly. "I thought you liked a challenge?"

Ghost looked over his shoulder at him with unimpressed eyes.

"Also, I believe you're obliged to follow orders anyway."

Ghost knew there was a smirk on MacTavish's face. He could just _hear_ it. Giving his shoulders a final rough pat, the Captain turned and walked away. He'd pay for that one day.


	4. Controlled

_I'm sorry this chapter took a while, it sort of took me a while to actually get round to finishing it. Just in case there may be any confusion, the sections in italics are scenes from the past/memories. Anyway, I hope you like the chapter and I would love to hear your feedback on it, and what your thoughts are on the story so far, so let me know in a review! _

* * *

_Outside, the sky was dull and lifeless. Monotonous buildings spread across the horizon, scattered with tiny squares of pale light. A circle of condensation frosted up the glass, as Eva's warm breath caressed the window, only to fade away again. The way the lights glittered across the buildings could have been considered as a remarkable sight, pretty even. Yet she stared out, hollow and emotionless. There was a slow creak as the oak door behind her opened and she instinctively hugged her silk gown tighter around her frame as she heard footsteps approach. She didn't turn around, and instead saw a ghostly pale face looming over her shoulder in the reflection of the glass. A smooth voice sent a tingle down the back of her neck as it drifted into her ear._

_"When your father begged me to take you from his hands, I took pity on you…" A hand reached from behind and slid a wave of hair behind her ear, and her teeth clenched at the touch. "Pretty girl, not wanted by even her own family. I could easily have just killed both you and your fool of a father for his idiocy, but instead I took you in and gave you a life of royalty…"_

_Her arm was suddenly gripped tightly and she was swung round and shoved roughly against the window, a hand clamped around her throat. She inhaled at the sudden scuffle but did nothing more and let her arms hang by her sides, the sleeve of her gown hanging limply around her wrist, exposing her fair skin. A contorted, snarling face lowered close to hers and she fought the urge to recoil._

_"But you are yet to fucking repay me!" She flinched as saliva sprayed into her face. "You sneak around, putting your filthy little hands on things and think I won't know!? How dare you step a foot into my office you little bitch! You don't have permission to fucking breathe unless I tell you to!"_

_A tangle of blonde hair whipped through the air as her head swung round at the impact of the slap. It happened so quick, that the burning sensation welling in her cheek was the only indicator telling her she had been struck. With a final jolt of her neck, she was released and she watched as he adjusted the jacket of his suit and walked away, sinisterly casual. She lifted a gentle hand to her reddened cheek as he reached for the handle of the door and then froze. Without turning to face her, his cold, calm voice rang through the silence._

_"There will be consequences for your actions. I'll expect you in five minutes."_

_And with those words that sent a chill of understanding down Eva's spine, Vladimir Makarov stepped forward and closed the door behind him._

* * *

Uncharacteristically, the shooting range was desolate and lifeless. The hum of activity from the base could be heard in the distance, but otherwise, it was almost serene. There was a repetitive clicking as leaning against a row of piled sandbags, Ghost loaded a magazine, pushing in one bullet after another in practiced motions. When it was fully loaded, he picked up the semi-automatic pistol from on top of the barrel next to him and snapped the magazine into the chamber. He gripped it and extended his arm, squinting through its line of fire experimentally before relaxing again and turning it over in his hand in inspection before setting it down.

He scanned the array of guns he had lain out on the barrels; a small selection pistols, a machine pistol and a rifle. He eyed the rifle. Her feeble arms had no chance of holding it stiff enough not to give herself whiplash. Such a powerful gun shouldn't even be touched by someone like her. It was such a harsh, warped collision of worlds. And frankly it irritated Ghost. This was his world.

"Tenner says she's a Desert Eagle kind of lass."

Ghost didn't falter, as he never did, at MacTavish's voice behind him and rather than turning to face him, he picked up another pistol. The Captain continued to approach and stopped beside Ghost, his hands in tucked in his pant pockets.

"Come to gloat 'Tavish?" Ghost said ignoring his comment, tossing the pistol from hand to hand, feeling the weight of it in each.

MacTavish shook his head, the corners of his mouth curling down in an attempt to supress a smirk, even though Ghost stared straight ahead impassively. "No, no, just came to see what you've lined up for her." He looked at the row of guns organised carefully in size order on the barrels. "Check there's nothing that would kill her."

Ghost raised the pistol close to his face and looked over the top of it, his finger hovering over the trigger. "I'm good at making deaths look like accidents."

MacTavish snorted, knowing that Ghost was smirking under his balaclava. He dragged a hand out of his pocket, a packet of cigarettes in his palm and flicked the top open with his thumb. As he lifted his other hand to extract a cigarette from the pack, he caught sight of something to his left and coughed almost awkwardly, but his face gave away his amusement.

"Well, I'll leave you two to it." he said, pushing the tip of the cigarette between his lips and turning to leave. He nodded at Eva as he passed, an impish smirk still lingering on his face. "Good luck."

With a heavy stomach, she took a few more steps towards Ghost, whose large figure had turned in her direction but his attention was concentrated downwards as he fiddled with something on top of the barrel. She had decided to stop using the crutches that had aided her over the past few days, mainly because she felt she could manage without, and partially because she got a feeling that it would irritate Ghost if she didn't. She didn't understand why, he had never made this clear; he hadn't even looked at her properly in the last couple of days. There was just something about him, something about him that she feared to provoke.

Ghost still didn't look up as she limped forward and she stopped a few feet away from him. Silence stretched between them as she stared at the guns before him. She'd willingly agreed to this training – if this is what they needed her to do then she would. Yet despite his lack of words, she sensed that Ghost hadn't been so willing to participate in such a programme.

After a long, tense moment, Ghost finally looked up. From behind the protection of his tinted sunglasses, he registered her appearance. It seemed someone had taken the liberty of providing her with some of their kit as standing before him, her small frame was covered by a dark green t-shirt that was rolled a few times at the sleeves which he presumed was because of its large fitting. She had on khaki combat pants which seemed to bury the real outline of her legs and black boots, tied in tight knots. He had no idea where she'd got the boots; he doubted anyone wore such a small shoe size. Roach was a scrawny little sod, maybe they were his.

From the way she stood, her hands locked together in a tight grasp, he could tell she knew she looked ridiculous. She looked horribly out of place.

Picking up a set of ear defenders from amongst the selection of guns, he extended an arm and held them out to her. Keeping her eyes lowered to his hand, which she noticed wasn't gloved and was lightly tanned, she took them from him. The moment they left his hand, he averted his attention and picked up the first pistol.

"This is a P99 handgun. It's a short recoil-operated locked breech semi-automatic pistol." He didn't look up as he popped out the magazine for demonstration and then clipped it back in. "Keep your arms extended, hold it tight and squeeze the trigger slowly."

His gaze lifted and met panicked blue eyes. Eva had misunderstood his gesture and had put the ear defenders on, and had now suddenly realised he was talking and was scrambling to yank them off again. They slid down and hung around her neck and she stared up at him with wide, apologetic eyes.

"I'm sorry! I thought I was supposed to put them on." She rushed her words, sounding almost frantic.

Ghost stared at her, his eyes stony. He wanted to quit already. Exhaling, he gripped the muzzle of the pistol and extended the handle to her. "Here."

Unknowing to the fact that underneath his balaclava, a light crease had formed where the corner of his mouth had curled up ever so slightly, she was simply relieved that he had overlooked the matter. Her eyes travelled from his concealed face, down his arm, and to the gun he held out. A ripple of nausea unsettled her stomach and her throat grew hoarse and dry as she stared at it.

* * *

_"Go on. You have one shot." Vladmir Makarov jilted the pistol in his hand encouragingly. "I know you want to do it. I see the way you look at me. Take it. Let's see if you have it in you."_

_Eva didn't move. Her eyes flickered between his dark narrowed ones, his unsettling smirk and the glinting gun in his outstretched hand. She could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears and she suddenly felt as if she could vomit._

_"Take it." This time his voice was different. It was a demand. _

_With a shaking hand, she slowly reached up and delicately wrapped her fingers around the handle and he let go of the end, her arm dropping fractionally under its weight. She pulled it close to her chest, not daring to point it at him. It felt alien in her hands. Cold, hard and heavy. The feel of it between her fingers made her feel contaminated by the sin it radiated; she felt almost dirty._

_Makarov took a step forward, his eyes boring into her eyelids as she looked down. Painfully slowly, he reached out. He grasped the end of the gun and slowly pulled it away from her. She knew by the manner in which he moved that he wasn't intending to take it back off her, so she kept her hand enclosed around the handle as he guided the shooting end towards him. Her arm raised in the process, until it was fully extended in front of her, and he was pressing the muzzle of the gun against his forehead. _

_"Do it."_

_When she tried to pull her arm back, he gripped the gun tighter, keeping it in place against his skull. _

_"Do it."_

_She stared at him, blinking quickly as tears welled up in her eyes. He let go of the gun, and lowered his hand to his side. He pushed his head against the cold metal, jolting her balance slightly._

_"Do it."_

_She clamped her top teeth down on her lip to stop it quivering and her arm trembled._

_"Fucking, do-"_

_She squeezed the trigger hard._

_Time seemed to stop moving when the gun let off a small click. _

_He lifted an arm and pushed the gun away from his direction, knocking it out of her limp hand and sending it clattering to the floor. _

_A wide, sickening smirk spread across his face, and he gave her hard, meaningful eyes before he turned and walked away, the gun still spinning on the floor._

* * *

Suddenly realising that she was taking abnormally long to take the gun from him, and noticing his eyebrow had arched behind his glasses, Eva wrapped her hand around the handle and gently pulled the pistol out of Ghost's hand. He watched as she stared down at it, her face oddly blank, but he turned around after a few moments and pointed at the target boards at the end of the range. It was just his character; he didn't ask questions, because he didn't care. At moments when a spark of interest would ignite in others and they would begin to think into things, Ghost didn't.

"Try shooting the target." he said, nodding in its direction.

Eva stood beside him, the gun still held awkwardly close to her body. Wrapping her other hand over the one that already gripped the handle, she bent her arms up so the gun was in front of her face yet aiming towards the sky. She stood, preparing herself.

"Have you ever held a gun before?" Ghost asked, looking down at her defined profile. His voice was so steady that it was hard to tell whether he meant it disdainfully or curiously.

Keeping only the side of her face in his view, her body jerked in a mangle of shrugging and head tilting, that was a confusing fusion of nodding and shaking. He stared down at her, and she felt heat creep up her neck and wash over her cheeks. He nodded towards the target again, completely immune to the awkward atmosphere around them.

"Straighten your arms out keeping them level with your shoulders." he instructed, his voice still smoothly monotone.

She did as he said, and froze herself in that position still staring ahead.

"Move your legs further apart, you'll get knocked off balance like that." he said, pointing at her boots.

Again, she did as instructed and repositioned her back leg wider apart from her front.

"Alright, now make sure you keep your arms locked out and a tight hold on the gun. Squeeze the trigger slowly, don't go bloody crazy."

She glanced at him quickly from the side of her view before she inhaled. Just as the air left her lips and her finger twitched over the trigger, Ghost interjected.

"Ear protectors." he stated bluntly.

Her lips parted slightly in realisation and she dropped her position and slid the ear defenders over her head and secured them on her ears, still holding the gun in one hand. She looked up at him – the top of her head was only just on level with his jaw – with expectant eyes. He nodded and she re-established the position. She aimed as steadily as she could at the target and with bated breath, pulled the trigger slowly.

She jerked instinctively when the gun fired and her arms buckled slightly from the sheer force of the bullet propelling from the chamber. She wasn't sure if she even hit the target, but a rush of adrenaline had consumed her body and she felt unexpectedly elated. A foreign feeling radiated through her and she couldn't control, nor did she want to, the smile that crept across her face. For the first time in her life, she felt in control. She controlled that gun. She was the one with the power, and it was intoxicating.

She turned to Ghost, a broad grin now completely consuming her face. He didn't react for the few seconds she looked at him, and simply folded his arms across his chest and watched as she unleashed another round on the target.

* * *

The metal frame creaked harshly when he sat down on the edge of the low bed. He leaned his elbows on his knees and entwined his fingers between his legs. It was late in the evening and Ghost still had his boots, combats and fleeced jacket on. He sat for a moment, only his chest moving as it rose in and out. Exhaling, he reached up and under the neck of his jacket, pulling at the bottom of his balaclava and peeled it up over his head. He rubbed his face roughly with the palm of his hand before tossing it onto the stand beside his bed. Leaning to one side, he delved into his pants pocket and extracted his sunglasses, setting them beside the crumpled mask.

He was now nothing more than an ordinary man. Young and tired-looking. He dragged a hand through his flattened hair and lifted his legs onto the bed, resting his head against the wall. Not many knew that Simon Riley had soft brown hair, shaved at the sides but more free on the top. Not many could tell that his skin was a warm caramel colour. Not many could say they knew he had steel grey eyes, that when caught the light, had a tint of cold blue. Not many could describe his straight angled nose or picture his pronounced rounded lips. Not many could say they were friends of Simon Riley. Even less could say they understood the man.

Only a few could begin to imagine how broken he was.

No one knew Simon Riley was haunted by nightmares every night.

And that's exactly how he liked it.


End file.
